She Stood Above The Castle
by La Wei
Summary: She stood above the castle, silently waiting for what was inevitable in her eyes. Her black robes flowed about her as she gazed upon the rubble with a white blade held lightly, but firmly in her grasp; and not even giving a sigh, she disappeared with a small whoosh. A dabble into the aftermath of the deathly hallows.
1. Chapter 1

**S**he stood above the castle, silently waiting for what was inevitable in her eyes. Her black robes flowed about her as she gazed upon the rubble with a white blade held lightly, but firmly in her grasp; and not even giving a sigh, she disappeared with a small _whoosh_.

The site was not something to admire. Amidst the destroyed stone of the castle, lay multitudes of bodies, their souls already taken care of by the others of her squad. She, however, had a more _interesting_ duty to take care of.

She was Rukia Kuchiki, a member of the Gotei Thirteen, and Lieutenant to the thirteenth squad. Soul Society had been keeping a watchful eye on the more western parts of the world, sensing the political turmoil and the brewing of war within the wizarding community. Her captain directed her to patrol the area with a few of her squad members every few months, and it just so happens that her special instructions were directly correlated to the increasing number of souls appearing.

The petite-sized soul reaper knew that the shinigami held no hand in the matters of the material world, as it was to be resolved by those who were living, and not those that have passed. The consequences of war are always devastating, but for the members of the Gotei Thirteen, they knew to anticipate an influx of recently deceased. So when she happened upon a soul that was merely a fragment, she brought it to her superiors to analyze. After the Research and Development Institute of Division Twelve examined the soul fragment, Rukia was instructed to keep tabs on the rest of the soul fragments when they appeared.

As soul reapers, their duty is to safely escort the deceased by performing a soul burial, however, because the soul she found was fragmented, the burial cannot take place until all of the pieces have been collected. So it is with this information that the raven-haired shinigami watches over the proceedings today. The soul fragments have appeared with more frequency in the past few months, and as her duty permits, she has been waiting for this very moment.

She stands above the two dueling wizards impassively, merely waiting for the outcome. Though her face shows apathy, she is not indifferent to the events that occurred. She sees the fighting, sees the children that are struggling for their future, and she sees the men who so desperately follow a man with less than half his soul. The young opponent, that willingly and selflessly fights, brings a small smile to her face, reminding her of an idiot with brightly colored hair waiting back home for her. She sees the conviction and knows that the young man with his full soul, backed by many of his comrades, will never surrender. How could only a small piece of something that is meant to be whole, ever overcome the strength of the undivided?

It cannot.

And so she simply waits for what is to be inevitable, in her eyes. And when the time has come, she gives an unseen nod to the victors and waits for the last of the small fragments to come together. As the soul assembles, she can sense the inkiness and tar forming together, and she is not worried when she sees the form of a monster appearing in the space of the assembling soul. The small soul reaper knows of the deeds of this soul, and though she herself cannot pass judgment, it is not difficult to guess what will happen.

With a whisper and the release and swing of her blade, the gates of hell appear behind the monstrous form. She does not blink, nor does she turn away. She simply watches as the soul is grabbed by the hands of hell's gates and thrown into its darkest pits to lie there eternally. Rukia sheathes her blade and takes out a small device to relay the completion of her mission.

She takes a deep breath and exhales with a small smile.


	2. Chapter 2

A slight continuation of the last chapter, for some closure. And all rights and characters belong respectively to J.K. Rowling and Kubo Tite.

* * *

Harry Potter felt really, _really_ tired. Well, as tired as you can be for having lived through a killing curse, an adolescence immersed in eluding death, _another_ killing curse, _dying_ from said killing curse only to be revived again, and then…parenthood. Not to say that Harry wasn't appreciative for all of those experiences that taught him love, loyalty, wisdom, and compassion; but that's a lot to deal with for only being three-quarters of a century.

He lay in his bed and stared out to his right side to look at the cerulean sky and passing clouds. His children were older now, and didn't need to depend on their father for much; though he knew that they also loved him immensely, with all of the visits and calls, and he loved them back, more so then he could have ever imagined loving someone. Harry thought back on the past half-century and a small smile formed on his face, outlined by age lines and creases from a life filled with much laughter and joy.

He truly felt he lived a very wonderful life, not despite nor because of the very night that changed his entire world and the consequences that laid beyond it, but including it and the years that followed after all of the tragedy, turmoil, and even the small glimpses of relief. So with those thoughts in mind, Harry slowly fluttered his eyes shut to the warming rays of nature and, as the story of the Deathly Hallows goes, he greeted death as an old friend.

As if that would be the end for Harry Potter.

…

Harry was slightly confused as to why he didn't feel the great beyond, the unfathomable depths of the unknown, or even the heat from hell's gates. He was still in the room in which he _thought_ he had just died, sitting as if it were any other day. Everything looked the same; there was no change in his environment. The chair sitTing solemnly next to the bed was untouched, the curtains were still pulled back from the window to showcase a clear sky, and the blanket that covered his body on the bed lay unmoving.

"Ah, over here Mr. Potter."

Harry swiveled his head to the left, to stare at the corner of the bedpost where a petite figure stood. She did not stir any memories as someone he knew, yet she seemed oddly familiar, if not in sight, then in another sense…perhaps magical? The young lady, and she did look young, gave him a small, yet compassionate smile that put him at ease, and he slowly returned one as well. Harry spoke first to break the silence,

"So, may I ask who you are Miss? And have we met somewhere before?"

The young lady's smile never left her face, but she did move closer to where Harry was sitting up. It was when she gracefully moved towards him did he notice the difference in clothing and accessories uncommon in the wizarding world, in Britain anyways. She wore a deep black…robe, he supposed, though it was not the kind he was used to seeing, fingerless white gloves, and carried a sword in a cloth belt tied around her waist. She was small, much smaller than Ginny or Hermione, or even Lily had been, he estimated, at sixteen years of age. Yet she held herself with much, _much_ more confidence, poise, and self-assurance then any of the three ladies, which he dearly loved, put together.

"My name is Rukia Kuchiki, and I am…how you say, an escort, between this world and the next."

He noticed her English had a slight American accent, though it wasn't pronounced. He guessed the only reason he was focusing on that was because the actual content of her statement had not filtered through his head quite yet. He, of course, had a bit more tact now than when he was a young wizard and only had a jaw unhinged for a few moments before composing himself. Harry thought to himself bemusedly, that he's had weirder things happen to him than a young lady clothed in black tell him she was a grim reaper.

"So Miss… may I call you Rukia?" She gave a small nod, "Miss Rukia, what exactly happens on this, um, trip between this world and the…next?"

Rukia stood silently for a moment, and Harry assumed she was trying to gather her thoughts to explain the process. After a few more silent moments, with only the sounds of distant crows filtering through, she replied,

"I am, as I said earlier, a kind of escort between this world to the next world. We…ah, soul reapers use our _zankpakuto_…excuse me, soul blade, to transfer your soul safely from this realm into the next." Rukia gestured to the sword that sat at her side, and Harry wearily looked at it.

"Er, how _exactly_ do you use the sword?"

Rukia smiled with amusement in her violet eyes, "Do not worry, I will not be cutting you. I am only using the bottom of the hilt to perform a soul burial. It is not painful, and I am sure you will have a pleasant afterlife ahead of you."

Harry sighed with relief. He was a really glad he wouldn't have to deal with another battle in his _afterlife._ He has had enough fighting to last multiple lifetimes. Harry perked up a bit after remembering her saying that he would have a _pleasant_ afterlife, and wondered at how she would know. He furrowed his eyebrows and glanced at her with curiosity.

"How do you know I'll have a pleasant afterlife?"

Rukia gave an abashed expression, as if she made an error. She then shrugged and mumbled something under her breath in a language he didn't understand, and sighed before answering,

"Well, I suppose it is because my superiors are not… unaware of what happens in the material world. It is not really a reward, per se, for protecting your world, but more of …a gesture of goodwill? I am not quite too clear on the workings of my superiors, but know that what you have prevented will not go unacknowledged."

Harry sat upright, slightly stunned at her words. He was unable to form a response to the idea that what happened more than half-a-century ago would affect him in his afterlife. He supposed that the afterlife would treat him appropriately well. Harry then told Rukia that he was ready and she steadied her hand on her blade.

Harry felt a touch to his forehead, right near his faded scar from the rebounded killing curse. Then, images passed through his eyes.

Harry saw the moments he cherished, moments he regretted, and strangely enough, the moments where the horcruxes were extinguished and Voldemort's split soul evaporating. Except, now, he was able to spot a small figure, very similar to the one standing before him, in each moment that Voldemort's soul died.

And then he saw himself standing at the final battle at Hogwarts, where Voldemort was defeated. He saw himself stagger, and where he remembered Voldemort's body to have perished, he saw Rukia; Rukia, holding a dark…blob, for loss of a better word. What happened after she released the darkness surprised him though. The wispy shadows started to conglomerate on top of one another to form a large and ugly creature. He wanted to shout at the girl to move, even though subconsciously he knew that this was only a memory.

Harry was starting to panic when the creature let out an ear-screeching bellow, and in the back of his mind, wondered why he didn't see this before, after the fight. However, he stopped whatever he was thinking when Rukia unsheathed her blade. The sudden outpouring of power from this petite person mesmerized Harry and when she turned her sword to the side and murmured a foreign phrase, he was shocked by the sudden whiteness of the blade. In the blink of an eye, Rukia slashed her sword towards the monster, and then Harry's eyes grew wide.

He was slightly taken aback, by what he was sure of was the gates of Hell. Dark arms anchored a hold of the monster and dragged it towards the entrance before finally slamming its doors shut and disappearing. Harry then noticed that Rukia had turned towards him, the him that was slowly staggering back to the castle, and giving him a slight nod before she too disappeared.

And before Harry knew it, he fell into a pleasant wash of pure whiteness.

The End.


End file.
